


489. Things grow toward the light

by SevlinRipley



Category: It - All Media Types, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: Prompt: love at first sight





	489. Things grow toward the light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Itsfreakingstrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsfreakingstrange/gifts).



Will's leading Mike by the hand through the men's department, over glossy tile and passed displays of too-expensive boxer-briefs and rows of belts.

He'd just finished complain-asking Will why on earth he would've brought _him_ of all people, to help Will pick an outfit for a date. What did Mike know about fashion? _Nothing_ , maybe even less. He'd been told that it was because Will trusted him to tell him if he looked like a dork, and then rolled his eyes and gripped Mike's hand even tighter when Mike told him he'd look good in anything, Jesus Christ. It was Lucas who should've been there, if anything. But Mike sort of, reluctantly, got that maybe it didn't make sense to bring one's date along for pre-date shopping. And also, Lucas was probably busy doing the exact same thing with Dustin in another shop less than a mile away, with Dustin asking the very same questions as Mike.

Adjusting his pack, Mike's taking in everything around him as he's pulled along, balking at the price of handkerchiefs and pocket squares. He knows Will is taking him to the section at the back where returned items are marked down in price. He wants to look nice for his date without feeling guilty for the rest of his life about it.

The surprise on his face quickly moves from disgust to something very, _very_ different when a few feet away there's a boy at the tie rack, holding up something silken with utmost care in the palm of his hand, studying the intricacies of the pattern. A curl hangs off from his forehead, and Mike traces down from there to the tip of his nose, and the slight jut of his pink lips. From this angle, Mike can only really see about a third of the boy's face.

He's wearing a dress shirt that's tucked into some nice slacks, a leather belt around his waist, and his hair is in perfect coils on top of his head, ears slightly pink in tone, while the rest of his pale skin carries a slightly yellow hue in the department store lights. The bones of his shoulder blades create a soft cascade of fabric between them, and Mike has never wanted to stop and stare and study something more in his whole, nineteen-year-old life.

Before he can even think about it, he's digging his heels in, and abruptly putting Will's mission to a halt.

"Stop being so resistant, Mike. Jeez, I ask for _one_ favor. Is this a self-esteem thing? Because you _really_ do look good most of the time. I'm not saying you're a fashion icon or anything, but..." Will trails off, and ceases his attempts to get Mike moving again. Following his line of sight, and letting a smile slowly burn onto his face. "Oh." He turns his eyes from the man ahead of them, and back up to Mike, from the corner of his eye. Then fakes a resigned sigh. "Fine. I'll do everything myself. Go talk to him."

Mike doesn't have the chance to squeak out an incredulous, ' _Talk_ to him?!' before Will's hand is on his shoulder, shoving him forward. But Mike's body doesn't get far, because his shoes are squeaking into the tile as he refuses to close the space between himself and the stranger. Only, that move backfires entirely.

The sharp, obnoxious noise the soles of his shoes make calls the attention of the boy, and he's turning as Mike feels himself enter a world of slow-motion where his cheeks take on more red than could possibly be flattering.

It'd be the absolute worst feeling ever, considering the fact that the boy looks at him with dirty-blonde eyebrows drawn tight, mouth pursed. But the expression is fleeting. His forehead smooths, at least until his brows are arching up, and his mouth is parting. Mike's heart is pounding so hard in his chest he thinks he might die, once he gets to take in the whole of the boy's face, and holy fuck, holy fuck he's so pretty.

He's reaching back, trying to stabilize himself by grasping onto Will's jacket-sleeve, but nothing's there and when Mike manages to tear his eyes from the stranger, he notices Will's not even anywhere near him. It kicks his lungs into action, forcing him to suck in a breath, and his face twitches as he realizes he's facing this stare down alone.

Swallowing harshly, Mike looks back up, face crumpling just slightly as he pipes out a, "Uh. Sorry. I -" _Was pushed toward you by my friend because I think I'm in love with you? D'you maybe wanna go on a date with me? And also we could get married._ "Tripped?"

The boy gets this little smile on his face, after a moment's processing. Looking amused at the question there. As if to say, 'You don't know if you tripped or not?' "You okay?" he asks, instead. Kind and warm, and his own cheeks growing slightly pink. Mike's mouth can't figure out what to do with it. Whether to go dry with nerves, or water with want.

Mike's nodding before he can find actual words, and somehow, his feet are dragging him closer, too. Until the stranger is only a couple of feet away, and Mike's leaning a hand on a display of belt buckles. "Uh-huh. Fine," he says, feeling like his jaw is stiff and stupid. "Sorry, if I bothered you."

"It's okay."

"Is it?" Mike asks quickly, and then immediately rolls his eyes at himself, turning away slightly in his embarrassment as he curses his dumb brain.

There's a soft chuckle, though, and it's so sweet-sounding and Mike's heart is beating faster again despite the mind-numbing pain of humiliation. "It's morally acceptable, in my opinion, yes."

"Oh," Mike breathes, looking back at him, and yet again, speaking without thinking, "Well, that's good."

At that, the stranger's eyes crinkle at the corners, and Mike's given a toothy smile. "Are you sure you're okay? You maybe, didn't hit your head or anything, did you?"

"I wish," Mike mutters, then smiles sheepishly, cheeks flaring further. "Sorry. I don't know why I'm bothering you." His feet begin to move him away, and he feels momentarily dizzy, body itching to head out the door and far, far away, while his mind tells him Will's waiting for him in the back and maybe he can hide in a fitting room somewhere, until it's time to go home.

"You aren't, actually."

This catches Mike, like a fly in honey, shoulders rising as he works the sentence over. "I'm not?"

"No. You don't seem like the type of person who could. Bother me, that is."

" _Oh_ , I really, really could, trust me..." Mike's saying, as he turns, but he's feeling much lighter now, some ease in his words, some confidence from out of nowhere.

He almost dies when he realizes the stranger is biting into his lip, and nervously bunching and un-bunching his fists within his pockets. "Maybe. Maybe you'll have to prove it to me," he says, and Mike's eyebrows arch high up on his forehead as the suggestion unravels in his mind. He means, by spending more time with him. Letting the boy get to know him better. Holy...

"Yeah! I'd be happy to!" Then Mike grimaces slightly, and amends, "Well. I mean. Not the bothering you part. I - would uhm."

"I should have worded that better. It's my fault," the man says, taking another step closer. "I meant... Maybe I'll have to prove that you _won't_ bother me."

"Oh," Mike says, voice wobbly with relief. "Yeah, that'd be - cool." And he's _so_ not good at playing it casual. So cringe-worthy. "I'm Mike."

"Stanley. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Mike says, before biting his tongue at how try-hard he sounds. He tries to control his face muscles enough not to make it even worse by frowning at himself, and sticks out his hand. As dorkily as possible.

Stanley takes it, and gives him a firm shake with a slightly sweaty palm that instantly has Mike's shoulders relaxing as he realizes that maybe he's not the only one who's nervous. "Can I - I mean I'm busy today. But can I maybe get your phone number? Call you to hang out sometime?"

"Yeah," Stanley says, smiling wider as he reaches into his back pocket for a wallet, and presents Mike with a business card. He feels overwhelmingly out of the guy's league, for a second, but then Stan is saying, "They were for a project in my business class. I'm not... Don't be intimidated. Please." The way his voice almost cracks over the 'please' makes it sound like maybe Stan's been rejected a few too many times, and Mike absolutely cannot understand what kind of world they live in if _that_ is the case, but he sure as hell's gonna break the pattern. Even if it kills him either via heart attack or humiliation.

"I won't," Mike promises, and holds the card close to himself as though he's cherishing it. Doesn't even mean to, but he smiles still, warm and happy, when Stanley's shoulders drop, less worried. "Thank you. I'll - I'll call you soon."

"Kay," Stan says, and it's so fucking soft, relieved, that Mike very genuinely contemplates dropping to one knee right then and there.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Alison Sudol's "Untitled (Grasses Grow)"


End file.
